The Gift of Vuvuzelas

Don't you love it when you find something pure, true and authentic?

Maybe I'm in a place where I am feeling less than authentic about things. Not that I'm being fake, I'm only feeling smiley on the outside and not so much on the inside. Lately I had been feeling weary in spirit.

That's why reading the book "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp has been a little like shaking the snowglobe inside of me sort of experience. I am treasuring the texture of her words, the completely naked style writing of raw truth and emotion. It's wild and I love it.

What is even more fun is the free app that you can download. It is a really fun place to document "your gifts" of wonder in your life. At first I thought it was weird, like one of those sugary gratitude journal sort of things. But the more I started documenting my "gifts" the more I couldn't wait to add more.

The app allows you to take a little picture or add an image and then some text about what your gift is that you are grateful for today. Yesterday my "gift" of the day was vuvuzelas. My son recently won it this weekend at an art festival and hasn't stopped blowing it at random times. It's hilarious. He loves to hear how it sounds when it echoes through our backyard or from the cul-de-sac or even from his window. It's almost like a poke in the shoulder that says "hey! wake up, life is happening!" I can't help but smile every time he does it.

More than anything, it's been a gift to me to be reminded that everything is a gift. Even vuvuzelas.

Warrior Me?

This weekend I get to be a warrior. Not just what they call "weekend warriors" the ones that go to Home Depot and paint their decks or remodel something. I get to be the kind that wears a furry helmet and horns, a la Viking style. Yes, and run a 5k while scaling rope walls, climbing through mud pits, crawling under barbed wire and such. Did I mention jumping over fire? 

Here's what I will look like if you need a visual...

You think I'm kidding but I'm not. Some friend of mine (who shall not be named but who I'm thinking of doing voo-doo on right now) thought it would be "super fun!" Right about now, I'd like to smack her for ever thinking this was a good idea. 

Yes, it's true. I'm participating in the NC Warrior Dash on Saturday. It is a great cause for St. Jude Children's Hospital and pediatric cancer research. Please pray that I live to tell the story!

Wouldn't you like to be a Warrior too? If you've ever wanted to be a Warrior, check it out here.

http://warriordash.com/register2012_north_carolina.php

Sandwiched

Sandwiches are only fun at picnics.

Not as much fun when they become the bucket you fall into as the “sandwich” generation – caring for your own children while caring for your parents. That’s me.

I’m not sure how I ended up becoming the caregiver for my mom. It became the next obvious thing to do. Sort of like picking up a coat off the floor and hanging it up, my mom coming to live in North Carolina in a senior community felt like the right thing to do.

“You get mom,” said my sister, “I get dad.” We joked together about how each of us had been given one parent to care for, as we constantly compare notes on how to encourage each other. We talk weekly on the latest funny story or how our parents have become like another child to care for while home and hearthing our own family.

On top of the child-rearing issues, I get to learn about things like walker maintenance, Medicare, Social Security, what to do when your teeth fall out and how many doctors you can possibly see in a year.

I hope this doesn’t sound like whining. Being my mom’s “it” girl has been a huge blessing for our family. My son spends time weekly with his grandmother. We cook together and spend lots of time simply doing life. I am fortunate because my mom is fairly healthy, right now. Still, I worry about what is down the road on my sandwich.

For the moment, this sort of sandwich is all I have. I watch my mom teach my son how to make “toast treasures.” Slicing up the bread in tiny thin strips the way she used to do only when I was sick or sad as a child. My son watches in awe, sure that he is witnessing something life changing.

And he is.

PS. To read more about my story as a family caregiver, check out my excerpt in the recently released book “Chicken Soup for the Soul for Family Caregivers.” The book features 101 stories of love, sacrifice and bonding from people of all ages who take care of family members at home or in outside facilities. This book is filled with great practical advice for anyone facing the important task of caring for a loved one in their golden years. Find it on amazon.com or wherever you buy books.

Amateur Rocket Scientist

Lately I have been channeling my inner scientist.

Somehow I thought signing up for the North Carolina Science Olympiad was a good idea. I thought, "Hey, we'll launch rockets, we'll learn new things, it will be awesome." And it is. I'm just learning that I'm really not a very good rocket scientist.

But apparently that doesn't seem to matter. For the last six weeks we have been blowing up 2 liter bottles in our back yard by filling them with water and pumping them up with air by way of a bicycle tire pump until they launch. Genius, right? I'm even able to say things like "Hey kids, we just used Newton's Third Law of Motion!" (that's for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction for those who need a reminder.)

Like moths to a flame, every kid, grown up and neighborhood dog is drawn to our rocketry afternoons. Pretty soon everyone wants to take a turn at building their own rocket, pumping it up and vying for the most coveted job, pulling the launcher string.

Are we learning anything other than how much PSI it takes to blow a 2 liter bottle sky high? Not sure. Are we furthering the love of science? Probably. But the coolest lesson we have learned is to see how much we can fail miserably at something and have a total blast.

That part makes it worth it. Science for me as a kid was the most boring thing imaginable. I can remember my 8th grade teacher drawing circle after circle on the chalkboard as he talked about molecules. Or even better was reading mountains of textbooks, while cramming hundreds of science terms in my head. I even remember studying Newton's Laws.

The truth is science is super cool if it's done in a memorable way. My guess is that my son will definitely remember Newton's Third Law forever -- with some great stories of blowing things up in his back yard. For all this, my attempts at amateur rocket scientist are time well spent. If nothing more than to revel in the jubilation of a bunch of kids celebrating the awesome beauty of a 2 liter reaching the treetops.

PS. If you want to learn more about NC Science Olympiad, volunteering or just coming out to watch the events, visit www.sciencenc.com.

Gentleman In Training

When it comes to manners, I am old school.

I keep hoping for the day that I don't have to begin dinner with "napkin in your lapkin" or end dinner with "where does your plate go?"

These basic courtesies were literally drilled into my brain growing up about the constant importance of good graces. Is it wrong or dated to expect them in my 10 year old son?

This year, we have begun the book "50 Things Ever Young Gentleman Should Know" by John Bridges and Bryan Curtis. (there is also the girl version for young lady too). I have to say it is a hilarious read and a perfect tone for tween boys.

Here's a few examples:

On sports...

"A gentleman does not throw a fit when a call does not goes his way or when he loses."

On apologies...

"A gentleman who has offended another person says, 'I'm sorry.'"

My fav on hygiene...

"A gentleman puts on a clean shirt instead of smelling the armpits of a shirt to see if can wear it again."

It would be easy to blame technology or the media for ruining our kids, or the fact that this generation is different and doesn't understand the importance of good manners. I will set all that aside and be persistent anyways. Manners are important and tell a lot about the kind of character our kids have. Even if I have to say "napkin in the lapkin" for 365 days straight, one day I know he will get it.

And I know that day, Emily Post will smile. So will I.

Rethinking Christmas

Advent season marked the time I started curling my toes in church. As a kid, it always came as such a surprise that Sunday after Thanksgiving that we could begin talking about Christmas already. With thrilling anticipation, the pastor had my attention, knowing that presents were soon on the way.

But really he wasn't talking about those kind of presents, he was talking about the one big present, Jesus. Advent season meant lighting a candle each Sunday and preparing our hearts and minds for that amazing birthday party. Who doesn't love a party?

Christmas stopped becoming a joy when I became a grown up and realized all the wonder and magic was up to me. I was the one who would be shopping, cooking, cleaning, preparing. Along with that work, came the heavy guilt about all the expense, measuring up and giving enough. But was the wonder all up to me, really? Or did I simply decide that?

One of my favorite daily devotion websites is called "Following the Star" at www.d365.org. I think the author says it best when she writes:

"I step into this season with an open heart, O God. As I wait for you, surprise me with the hope of Christmas that will fill the empty places. Amen."

That is my prayer this season. I remember the child-like, toe-curling wonder of Advent, not for the presents, but for the open heart and the hope it brings. To remember that I can choose to focus on the guilt or I can choose to focus on the star.

Loser 101

Winning is overrated. Losing might be the new "it."

Lately I have been watching a lot of losing at little league baseball. As a mom, I have run out of cheery things to say. But to truly appreciate winning, I think you need to lose a lot.

I see my son tap his pitcher on the head and give words of encouragement. He never would have done that before had he not known what it’s like to walk 20 batters in a row. I see him cheer his teammates on for the tiny victories, even though they may be down by 10 runs. He has come to know how important little things can be. Little things done well, strung together make a good game.

Then I see my kid throw a perfect pitch. He would not know it’s true perfection if he hadn’t thrown a lot of awful pitches. I watch him swagger back to the mound. I witness his confidence soar. Only he and I know how many afternoons we have spent throwing that ball back and forth. All those days where we mimicked plays, with pretend stress-filled moments. Mom was the umpire those days as I belted out my best impersonation of a passionate blue yelling “STRRRRRikeee.”

Now he hears the real thing.

Winning is sweet. But it’s in the losing that we come to know it’s taste. I think losing well takes more character and guts than winning with style. And that makes it not so bad after all.